Ursa Prince and the Rogue Prophet
by Lexa Greysparrow
Summary: Ursa Prince is starting Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry after spending six dreary years on Black Farm with only her stern great aunt for company, Eager to make a good first impression, she finds that making friends tough. Meanwhile, an escaped mental patient from Saint Mungo's is on the loose near campus. The aurors can't find him, but Ursa does. Will she survive?


A swath of bright sunlight poured through the cracked, dusty window. Ursa pressed her palms against the glass, gazed down at the verdant, blooming pasture, bright even through the window's filth, and thought that it was certainly the most beautiful death day yet. Anxious not to miss a minute of it, she grabbed her stiff, gray frock from the chair, pulled it on, and yanked on her stockings and boots as she hopped out the door and down the corridor. She raced down the wide, curving staircase, sliding on a ripped swatch of the threadbare runner, and bounded toward the door. She was congradulating herself on her excellent timing when she heard her great aunt Pearl's voice, shrill and clear, issuing from the west parlor. She stopped in mid bound and pressed herself against the wall. Her heart hammered in her chest. She had nearly run right into the room where her aunt was entertaining company.

"…A hanging in the town square. It was a grand event, and a service to the community! Now they just let them wander around with the children? This world has gone to the dogs, I tell you, or worse than that, to the muggles."

"Well, they didn't just _let_ him out to wander among children. He escaped."

Ursa recognized the second voice as that of her neighbor Mrs. Jonathan Wrigley, a kindly, if rather dim and eccentric, widow and regular visitor to the farm. Although Ursa had know Mrs. Wrigley for as long as she could remember, had slept in the rock-hard bed in her cluttered attic and eaten her bland, gray stews more times than she wanted to remember, she had never learned the woman's first name. As far as she could tell, Mrs. Wrigley's life had been fully consumed by being Jonathan's wife, and if she had any prior identity, none of it remained.

Holding her breath, Ursa tiptoed past the half-open doorway, keeping in the shadows and carefully avoiding the squeaky boards. She had been sneaking past her maiden great aunt for years, had done so frequently that sneaking had become a reflex, and she did it even when she was allowed to go out (which she generally wasn't). She made it a policy to avoid her aunt whenever possible.

"Escaped!" shrilled Pearl as Ursa ducked behind a dusty grandfather clock, "You Hufflepuffs and your euphemisms. You are as bad as the politicians, or perhaps worse. At least they have something to gain from slippery language."

"Slippery language? My, that sounds messy."

"If an old woman like myself can follow the goings on in an estate such as this, certainly all the witches and wizards of the Great Coven can keep track of the lunatics in an asylum. All they generally do is drool and blither anyhow."

"And murder, they say. They say he heard messages from God, that he had divine orders."

"Divide orders to murder innocent people? _Mon dieu_! If God speaks to lunatics then I am a turnip. Clearly the man is deranged and dangerous. You should hurry home, and lock your doors! If they've no idea where he's gone, then how can they know where he's going to?"

As she listened to the conversation in the parlor, Ursa made her way, inch by inch, to the front door. She was pushing the heavy, carved maple door closed behind her with the gentle precision of a surgeon when suddenly it sprung open again, knocking her backward. Mrs. Wrigley leapt onto the mossy stone stoop with surprising agility, and bounded over Ursa, who lay where she had fallen, near the wide entry steps.

Ursa held her breath, hoping that her gray frock would blend with the stone. She could see her great aunt's shadow looming in the doorway, and thought she was surely caught, but in a moment the shadow receded and the door swished closed. Ursa breathed a sigh of relief, but caught her breath when she heard the metal click of the deadbolt, followed by the clink of the chain lock. Pearl never locked the door, as the farm was protected by countless enchantments. It was unplottable, invisible and repellant to muggles, and even uninvited wizards would face tests and terrors if they approached. As a resident of the house, Ursa did not set off any of the security spells, so as long as she had avoided her great aunt's line of sight she had always been able to come as she pleased.

Ursa stood and stared at the long, curving dragon carved into the wood of the door, and willed the lock to click open. When she was just a toddler, barely walking, she had discovered that sometimes things happened just because she wanted them to. The first time it had happened she was in a shop with her father, an apothecary with a small selection of herbal sweets near the counter. She had begged for a horehound drop, but her father was talking to the shopkeeper and waved her away. Frustrated, she glared at the candy jar, wishing she was tall enough to just reach inside. She imagined pulling open the lid, and was shocked and delighted when, at just that moment, the lid popped up and a bonbon lifted up, and out, and directly into her outstretch hand. Her father scolded her and apologized, but the shopkeeper just laughed. _A talented little one you have, _the old man had said. _Just like her mum._

This time, however, the rudimentary magic of an untrained witch wasn't enough. The locks stayed stubbornly locked. She considered knocking on the door, telling Pearl that she had stepped out for a second, for air, but if she did that it might be hours before she could get out again. She wasn't willing to give up hours, not on such a beautiful death day. She would just have to find another way in before supper time.

The spring had been unusually wet, and a thick carpet of green surrounded the farm, soft and lush and aromatic. Ursa could smell earthy moss and moldering leaves mixed with the bold perfume of the honeysuckles that bloomed all over the low stone wall that surrounded the house. She ran through the overgrown garden, her worn boots slipping on the thick layer of rotting leaves. She lept over the wall, inhaling the heavy floral smell, and then plunged into the forest.

She ran along the deer trail, as she had uncountable times before, and called to her owl as she went.

"Sir David! Avie! Where are you?"

The secret hollow was overgrown with a raucous assortment of flowers, and sunlight shot between the trees in slanted golden columns. Ursa dropped onto the smooth stump, worn smooth from years of use, and watched dust dance in one of the columns of light.

"Avie, where are you! Come and see, it's beautiful today," she called, and a moment later a smallish long eared owl dived through the canopy and swooped into the light, sending the dust whirling. Sir David hovered in the light for a moment before folding his wings and dropping straight down to the forest floor. He landed lightly and stood straight, head held high, regarding Ursa, who giggled and then applauded. "That was great, Avie."

The owl took a bow, which made Ursa giggle even more. She reached down and stroked him gently on the head and he closed his eyes with pleasure.

"Are all the preparations finished?" she asked.

Sir David hooted and darted into a large tree with a blackened interior, hollowed out by lightning. Ursa ran after him. Although he flew directly into the branches, she ran into the hollow center, and began to climb a rope ladder that hung down the center. The hollow grew narrower the further she climbed, and Ursa had to wiggle the last few feet to the hole that opened out over a deck, supported by a very thick branch. She crawled through the hole and walked out onto the deck. On her left the deck extended under a weeping willow tree, and on her right was a small, round door into a small, round treehouse. The treehouse was made out of scavenged wood, so the walls were lumpy, and it was more globular than round, really. The outside was covered in thin strips of bark, sewn together with twine, and the roof was made from woven grass, and looked like a round, pointed straw hat. Crooked, oddly-shaped windows were placed at random around the treehouse.

Ursa turned right and ducked through the little door. Light streamed weakly into the small room, through a small hole near the ceiling, and through the windows, which were actually an assortment of salvaged glass items that were built into the walls: a fishbowl, a statue of a dog, A dinner plate, several bottles, and one small, cracked window. The glass was dusty, and some of it was tinted, but even in that paltry light Ursa could see that the preparations were indeed complete. She gasped.

"Avie, it's wonderful. Thank you! You must have worked so hard this year. This is by far the best haul ever."

The owl, who was sitting comfortably on a perch by the door, hooted in response.

Ursa walked slowly around the room, examining what Sir David had collected. There were items of every shape and texture, from stones, to feathers, to bits of cloth and glass, organized into piles by color. The piles were against the walls, so that the room had the appearance of a large color wheel. The center of the floor was clear, but rather dirty. Ursa retrieved a broom from the far wall, swept the floor, and then set to work.

She made a large square out of the darkest brown pieces, and then began filling in blue pieces above, green pieces below, with dots of yellow surrounded by circles of white. Next she filled in a swath of red, a shock of brown, an area of white, and one of dark blue. She worked silently for hours, shifting the pieces this was and that until she was satisfied, and when she was finally finished she stepped back to admire her work.

"Well, what do you think?" She asked the owl, who was snoozing on his perch. He startled awake, glanced around, and let out a low hoot of appreciation.

"The best one yet," said Ursa. "I know."

She gazed down at the picture: two people under a blue sky with a few fluffy white clouds, standing in a field of daisies. Her mum wore a long, red coat, and her Dad had on a white shirt, blue tie, and navy blue pants. They were facing each other, holding hands, and looking up, beyond the borders of the mosaic.

"What do you see?" she asked them quietly. She stood and stared at the image, listening to the sound of the wind rushing through the trees. "It's been five years now. I've moved on to books without pictures, and the violin doesn't shriek like a dying cat anymore when I touch it. I've also gotten rather good at making the potions in that book of yours, Dad. I would have made you proud, and also very cross. But I haven't done any irreparable damage, so don't worry. When I was at the shops I heard someone talking about how good your book is, and it is. You're still a celebrity. And Mum, almost all the herbs in your journal are flourishing in the greenhouse. There are a couple that I just can't get to sprout, and the bleeding orchid keeps dying, but I keep trying. I know I'll get it one day. I'm starting Hogwarts this year, so I'll be busy. Haven't got the letter yet, but I'm sure it's coming. Why wouldn't it, right? Wish you were here to take me to Diagon Alley for my wand. But I'm sure I'll do just fine on my own. I always do, so don't worry." She paused and stared down at the mosaic. Sir David hooted softly. The light had shifted in the windows, and Ursa could tell that it was well past noon. Her aunt would surely be after her soon to clean something, or practice something. And then there was dinner. Pearl always insisted that on the anniversary of her parent's death Ursa help prepare supper, and that they eat together. Ursa wasn't sure if it was meant to be a punishment of a comfort.

She gave the mosaic one final look. "I love you," she said. "See you next year."

The sky had begun to cloud over as Ursa worked on the mosaic. When she emerged from the hollowed out log the forest around her was cool, dim and white, shrouded in mist. She shivered as a gust of biting wind bit through her frock.

"I guess it's time to go back," she said, and took off through the forest. She had traveled the path so many times that she didn't need to look down; her feet moved automatically around roots and holes, falling into the groove worn flat and bare from use. Just as the broad, towering farmhouse came into view, rain began to fall, first a few timid drops and then a torrent that soaked her in seconds. Ursa launched over the wall and dove onto the porch, where she stood, teeth chattering, and watched a bolt of lightning streak through the gloomy sky.

She reached for the door handle, and then remembered that her great aunt had locked it. She cursed under her breath and looked around frantically, searching for any crack in the manor's armor that could offer passage to a small, industrious person. She saw nothing. In desperation she grabbed to door handle and twisted it, but the door remained stubbornly stuck. Still holding the handle, she pounded on the door with her fist, more in frustration than knocking, but the door swung open almost instantly.

"Lovely day for a stroll."

Pearl stood in shadows just inside the door, her face blank, her long nose and thin chin pointing down at Ursa like daggers.

"Young ladies of character do not sneak, as you would know if you ever chose to listen. Nor do they saturate their clothing in wretched, filthy water. You smell of a swamp. Go in and change immediately. And those clothes better be starched and fresh next time I see them. In, in." With that Pearl turned on her heel and marched away into the house, her boots clacking loudly against the stone floor. Ursa followed, dragging her sodden feet. She left a wet trail, like a slug.

"If you are going to continue to insist on sneaking around you could at least finish the job properly," Pearl called down the hall. "Sneak back in, and covertly tidy up."

Ursa made a face in the direction of her great aunt and pulled off her muddy boots. Her teeth chattered violently as she rolled up the bottoms of her bloomers and ran up the central staircase to her room. Her room was frigid, and Ursa shivered to the rhythm of her chattering teeth. She dropped her muddy things just inside the doorway and yanked open her wardrobe. It was bare. She sighed and looked at her bed. Just as she had expected, there was a set of clothes laid out, but she was pleasantly surprised to see rich, soft black fabric instead of the stiff, itchy lace that she was usually subjected to on the occasions when her aunt insisted that she dress for supper.

She lifted the corner of the folded black garment. The fabric flowed in her hand, thick and sturdy but somehow light as air. An area of darkness was spreading where her wet hand touched the fabric; she dropped the garment back onto the bed and found a rumbled blanket to dry off with. She rubbed vigorously at her thick, wavy hair, which held water like a sponge. She discarded her wet clothes, put on dry undergarments, and eagerly returned to the robes.

Slowly she unfolded them, and the fabric seemed to cooperate, opening gracefully under her touch. Fully unfolded, she saw that the garment was a set of robes, with silver buckles in the shape of tiny serpents, and the Black family crest embroidered in black thread on the chest. She pulled the robes over her head and they seemed to melt around her. The material was a little snug at the shoulders, and dragged on the floor, but the robes felt warm and soothing. She gathered the hem in her hands and trotted back to the dining room to join her great aunt.

"So you found the robes, I see," Pearl said as Ursa rounded the corner.

"Yes, thank you."

"You are welcome. They were your mother's or possibly your grandmother's. I don't know. All of us girls in the Black line had them as children. Being a Prince, you won't receive your own set of tailor-made robes, but these weren't going to use, so I don't see why your shouldn't have them."

Ursa made a huffing noise.

"They look a bit long, but you will probably grow. There are some runts in the Prince family, but the LeStranges are a sturdy brood. That's two out of three, so the odds are in your favor. Now, fetch the beef roast from the oven before it congeals. Do not forget the cutlery."

"What about my grandfather?"

"What?"

"My grandfather? Your brother in law? What about his side of the family?"

"Do not- You will not mention that disgrace in this house again. What was my sister thinking, marrying a muggle-born? Certainly he is the reason you are… Go on then. Get into the kitchen and slice the roast that I prepared while you were galavanting around in the forest like a common pixie."

Ursa scowled, but did as she was told. The roast was wedged into the hot, cast iron dutch oven, and she had to lever it out with a fire iron. She tried to roll in onto a silver serving platter, but the roast tottered on the edge of the pot. Automatically she reached toward it, dropping the tray and burning her palm in the process. She managed to shove the roast toward the tray, which was wedged between the pot and a heavy fruit bowl containing one rotten, barely recognizable orange. She jabbed the roast with the poker, and jammed the serving tray underneath at the same time, and the huge hunk of meat final settled on the tray. Ursa threw down the poker and plunged her hand into the brownish water in the washing basin.

"I already prepared a roast," called Pearl from the dining room. "No need to kill another cow."

"I know," Ursa called back, her voice sharp and irritated, "but I thought that beating a cow to death would be more pleasant than trying to choke down this leathery hide with you."

"Well if you feel that way then do not bother to cut yourself a portion. Bring me my serving and then cook your own cow."

Ursa grabbed a large, rusty knife and sawed off a rough hunk of meat. She dumped it on a sticky plate that she found behind the fruit bowl, and shoved the remaining meat, platter and all, into the icebox.

"You serving is on the counter," she called. "I trust that you can handle the journey."

Her stomach was growling, but anger masked her hunger. Ursa tramped out of the kitchen, across the pantry, through a sliding door that looked like a wall panel, and into a cluttered closet. She shoved coats, hats and misshapen hat boxes aside, clearing a path to the narrow staircase the curved up and to the left. She didn't bother lifting the robes as she made her way up the stairs; she trodden on them, slipping on the soft fabric. As she climbed the stairs she pulled the robes roughly over her head and cast them aside in a heap. The material slithered down the stairs and came to rest on the wide tread at the crook of the stairs. Ursa pushed though the thick black velvet curtain at the top of the stairs and stepped into a sitting room. The room was dimly lit by candles in sconces hanging, two per wall, around the room. On her right was a huge, dusty desk of dark walnut, with a high-backed chair, with intricate, pointed carvings in matching wood and black velvet cushions. On her left was a long, graceful couch, upholstered in deep green velvet, with a matching settee and chair, arranged around a low walnut table with legs carved to match the desk chair. Above the couch hung a large portrait, which Ursa turned to gaze at.

The portrait was of a young couple, facing each other, with their hands clasped. The woman wore a long, red coat, and the man wore dark blue pants, a white shirt, and a light blue tie tucked into a green vest with serpents embroidered on it. The background was a hazy gray, a little lighter around the figures, as if they were in a void, glowing gently.

"Was she this awful when you were a girl?" she asked her mother. "Nasty old prune. Always calling grandpa Gilliam a mudblood. What is her problem with muggle-born wizards, anyway? And what could she possibly have against grandpa Prince? Did he insult her precious heirloom jewelry, or trod on her stuffed cat? I always thought Persephone looked a little lopsided."

In the portrait, her father reached out and gently stroked her mother's cheek, and her mother gave him a sly, private look. He leaned in to whisper something, and her mother smiled, a wide, devilish grin.

She studied the image of her mother, turned in profile, her mouth always turned up just a touch, in a barely-perceptible secret smile, her cheeks slightly red, as it it were chilly in the grey void of the painting.

"Where those really your robes?" she asked. Her mother straightened her father's tie in response. Ursa watched them for a moment longer, and then loped back through the curtain. She carried the silky robes, folder over her arm, back to her room and dropped them onto her rumpled bed, right on top of a letter. A letter! She pushed the robes aside and retrieved the parchment envelope. On the front, in formal, curling script, it said:

_Ursa Aethelu Prince_

_The Bedroom Behind the Sitting Room_

_East Wing_

_The Black Estate Farm_

_Llantwit Major_

_Wales_

Ursa ripped open the parchment in a ragged line and pulled out the folded letter within. Her mouth spread into a grin as she read her admission letter to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Although she was a pureblood and had shown signs of magical ability from an early age, she had not truly believed she would ever leave the dreary farm where she had spent most of her life. She had pushed her hopes and dreams aside, fearing disappointment, but holding the letter in her hands, a tangible link to a new beginning, she felt hopeful for the first time in memory. In just a few months she was going to Hogwarts. She was really going.

Ursa hugged the letter to her chest, and then flipped to the required supplies list. She read it carefully, imagining the layout of Diagon Alley, which she recalled from a trip she had taken with Pearl a couple of years earlier. She would visit her father's vault first, since Pearl would certainly make her use her own money for school supplies. She would then get her robes fitted, and while the seamstress worked she would get her wand, and some rolls of parchment. She could skip the apothecary, as they already had everything she needed for potions, but she would need to visit the animal shop to get a proper cage for Avie. He would resent being confined, she knew, but she was determined to follow the instructions in the letter to the letter. She only had one chance to reinvent herself as someone better.

Since this trip was her first outing in over a year, she thought that a little celebration was in order. She would make a quick trip to the ice cream shop for a treat before getting her books, which would be her last stop. She shivered at the though of new books: the smell of ink and the feel of the pages, smooth and perfect. The farm was full of book, dating back hundreds, maybe thousands of years. Past generations had clearly enjoyed acquiring the volumes that filled an enormous library in the west wing, and were scattered on shelves throughout the house. Pearl did not share in that pleasure. Whenever Ursa asked, Pearl said that all the knowledge she would ever need (and more!) was already present, and new books would be a waste of money.

Ursa was dead to the world, so immersed in her imagination she was that she did not hear the door opening behind her, and did not know that her aunt was there until she spoke.

"I trust that you are old enough to handle the trip to Diagon Alley on you own."

Ursa jumped, dropping the letter, and whirled around. Her aunt stood, thin and pinched and towering above her. She was standing so close that Ursa could see up her nose.

"Flue powder is by the drawing room fireplace, in the silver urn on the mantle," her aunt continued, speaking over Ursa's head. "Do not waste it, and do not dawdle at your shopping. I need you to take care of a few things around the house before you trot off to school and leave me here alone. I will leave you a list. You may visit Diagon Alley tomorrow, and complete your chores upon your return. Now, pick up your letter and be sure to follow the instructions precisely. You don't want to bring shame down upon this family, do you?"

Ursa wasn't sure how to respond, but Pearl didn't wait for an answer. She pivoted on her boot heel and marched out of the room. Ursa had been planning to follow the instructions, but after her aunt's speech breaking a few rules sounded rather appealing. Sir David was a trustworthy owl (he was a knight, after all), and he hated being locked up. She decided to skip the animal shop after all.


End file.
